


It Takes a Bit More

by tinydancer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:23:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydancer/pseuds/tinydancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn’s become almost too aware of Harry – like all the energy he usually preserves for simple, unobstructed observation has suddenly zeroed onto one, singular and entire being. He’s become wholeheartedly too conscious of Harry’s minuscule movements, of the way he speaks, the way his fingers tap on the screen of his phone; every laugh, every frown and all the times Harry’d licked his lips when they’d looked a little chapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Takes a Bit More

**Author's Note:**

> Hasn't been beta'd or brit-picked. Feedback would be greatly appreciated since it’s my first venture into writing Zarry :)

Harry talks and talks; his hands are making little gestures and a too-big smile contours each word.

Zayn tries not to stare, he really does. But it’s been a little over five months since he’d last touched Harry – since Harry had touched Zayn with those all too rough, soft-knuckled hands. The weight of their absence has been building somewhere inside Zayn, moving at an entirely slow pace akin to an ocean’s gentle push and pull. But only now, while he’s sat between Liam and Harry in some brand-spanking new studio, does Zayn feel a sudden onslaught of unprecedented _want_ as he feels the graze of Harry crossing and uncrossing his legs beside him. Harry slowly nods at the interviewer with a ridiculous amount of undivided consideration, attentive as always. Zayn steadies his own hand, places it on his left knee to keep it from wandering.

*

“Alright, mate?” Louis asks him. They’re on their way back to the hotel and the van’s relatively quieter than usual; everyone’s so fucking tired. Zayn feels it too.

“’M fine.” Zayn nods at Louis; smiles a little, even. Louis frowns in reply but doesn’t say much more.

*                                                                                  

Zayn knows, he _knows_ it’s his own fault. He’d been the one who’d distanced himself from Harry all those months ago, had broken off whatever it was they’d had. Found solace in beats, lyrics and words written between pages instead of going to Harry like he usually would’ve. And Harry had just _accepted_ it, nodding at Zayn with a sad curve to his mouth every time Zayn told him _nah, not right now mate_ or _feeling knackered tonight_ , until eventually Zayn would only shrug and Harry had stopped asking. Thinking of it now, maybe there was something besides sadness in Harry’s eyes, something like understanding. Maybe Harry had been _expecting_ Zayn’s shrugs, because it seems to Zayn that Harry thought he was only accepting the inevitable.

So maybe it wasn’t all Zayn’s fault, because Harry hadn’t even lifted a finger in objection let alone opened his mouth. Maybe the entire thing is Harry’s fault. Because it’s _Harry_ with his stupid dimples and his long drawled-out stories, sturdy hands and his smooth and roughed-edged voice that’d made Zayn pause in the first place. Pause, so he could _think_ and think, and then want and _want_ – until he wasn’t thinking at all and began taking instead.

Zayn sends a text to Niall asking after Harry’s whereabouts. He knows he’s feeling angry and stupid and lonely, maybe a tiny bit drunk – drunk enough to go knocking on Harry’s door, at least. When Niall answers _he’s in 806 but think he’s goin out tnite_ , Zayn’s sudden bravado falters. Harry’s a whole two floors above him, which means he’s gonna have to ride the elevator and it’s possible Harry won’t even be there when Zayn reaches his door…so what’s the point, really?

Zayn doesn’t go. A few hours later, Harry happily texts all the boys goodnight like he sometimes used to back when things were more exciting and a little easier.

Zayn texts back a quick _g’night :) x_ and right after hitting send, he wonders if Harry’d actually had a good night. At 3am he contemplates whether it’s too late to amble up to the elevator, pillow in hand. But he only ends up falling asleep with half-intentions still pressing in the back of his mind.

*

The next few days are excruciatingly snail-paced, Zayn feels numbed out and dull. Most of the time he feels next to nothing besides a constant thrum of homesickness, a feeling he’s grown accustomed to.

The only exception, as always, seems to be Harry. In fact, Zayn’s become almost _too_ aware of Harry – like all the energy he usually preserves for simple, unobstructed observation has suddenly zeroed onto one, singular and entire being. He’s become wholeheartedly too conscious of Harry’s minuscule movements, of the way he speaks, the way his fingers tap on the screen of his phone; every laugh, every frown and all the times Harry’d licked his lips when they’d looked a little chapped.

He’s become aware of everything to do with Harry Styles, and it frustrates Zayn to the point where he’s angry with Harry a little more than himself. So he tries to shut it off as best he can. Waits for whatever it is to pass until Harry’s just Harry again. Not the Harry he’s constantly picturing, warm and pliant against stark white hotel room bed sheets – because that’s the Harry he’s been falling in and out and around with for almost three years now. Zayn’s just gonna have to wait ‘til Harry’s only his best mate again, and not someone Zayn wants to sleep next to at 4am so that he can feel the same comfort as _home_.

Zayn knows, he _knows_ the worst thing he could do right now is act on his thoughts. But he _doesn’t_ know how long this sudden bout of – of infatuation, affection, fucking fondness or _whatever –_ will last, until it finally comes to an end. He doesn’t want to drag Harry into it again after months of silence, doesn’t want to drag _himself_ towards it if he’s being totally honest. Zayn figures the whole thing’s pretty messed up and fucking unhealthy at that.

But apparently there’s a limit to his restraint – Zayn is only human after all. So he finds himself drawing lines.

*

They’re sitting in the lobby for almost an hour now for their car, Zayn can both see and hear a hoard of fans gathering outside the building and security’s talking about taking them through the back door since it looks pretty impossible out there.

“Zayn,” Harry says, and then catches Zayn’s hand where it was brushing against Harry’s accidently on purpose. Zayn watches as Harry slowly and very deliberately intertwines their fingers.

He looks up quickly to catch Harry’s eye but sees that he’s already looking away, even has his phone out in his other hand. Harry’s scrolling through pages using one hand with all the casualness in the world, like they handhold every day. And yeah, maybe they used to back when they were brave, and later when they became reckless, but it hasn’t happened for a long time now. Zayn doesn’t want to, but he’s the first to let go when they’re told the car is finally ready. Nobody notices anything odd; Zayn’s right hand is on fire.

*

It goes on for several weeks. Unnecessary touches, Harry grazing his thigh against Zayn’s, Harry gripping Zayn’s wrist, Zayn touching the back of Harry’s neck when they’re getting into a car, telling him to watch his head but not letting go of his hold even when they’re settled in.

And Harry’s being so careful, so _deliberately_ slow with every bit of skin-on-skin contact, that Zayn wonders whether Harry’s maybe drawn lines of his own. He wonders whether Harry’s lines run parallel to Zayn’s, or whether they’ll eventually cross.

*

Zayn wakes up to sound of his phone vibrating against his pillow. He thinks it’s his alarm at first and almost groans out loud, until he sees it’s a text from Harry.

_Alright, Zayn?_

Zayn frowns, and wonders if he missed a part of a conversation. He squints towards the hotel room window before realising that it’s still dark outside. Zayn’s about to reply when another one of Harry’s texts interrupts his typing.

 _I miss you,_ it says.

Zayn thinks about replying with something like, _you just saw me a few hours ago, mate_. But he knows that’s not fair, to Harry or to himself. He thinks about replying with something like _I miss you too, Haz. I think I’ve missed you for five months now. Maybe longer than that._ But he doesn’t write that, either.

 _Come to my room,_ Zayn replies instead.

And then he adds, _It’s 1404._

*

Harry doesn’t reply and Zayn wonders if he’s made a mistake. He even wonders if he’d dreamt the whole exchange and glances at his phone over and over again to confirm that it’d actually happened.

His heart almost lurches out of his throat when the first knock comes, twenty minutes after the last text. The sound is soft, but the almost-silence allows the noise to ring throughout Zayn’s room until it feels like it’s resounding through Zayn’s bones. He throws the covers off and crosses the room.

Zayn opens the door. Harry’s stood right in front of him wearing a thin t-shirt and boxers. He looks tired, more so than usual with circles forming under his eyes – blemishes that the make-up team will have to erase first thing in the morning.

Harry holds a pillow in his arms even though Zayn’s got four others on the bed behind him. He opens the door further to let Harry in, but Harry doesn’t make a move to step forward, only stares at Zayn with watchful eyes.

Zayn stares back, and waits. And when Harry finally opens his mouth to speak, he feels his own shoulders relax because Harry shouldn’t expect Zayn to be the first one to say it _,_ he simply can’t.

“Listen, just _listen_ okay?” Harry says the words just the same as he does everything else: slowly and deliberately. “I miss you. Not just your skin, or your lips or your stupid perfect hair between my fingers, because yeah, I can have that anytime with you or anyone else if I really wanted it. I miss _you_ , Zayn… And I don’t think you know how much I’ve worked to break those walls of yours, break them enough to find this _you_ that I miss. You might not’ve known, so I’m telling you now: it took a long time and it was really hard work. And I’m telling you right now that it’s worth it.”

Harry lets slip a smile then, a tiny but earnest curve to his mouth so it feels like he’s sharing a secret. It falters a little, though, when he speaks again. “Maybe I’d doubted that somewhere in the middle there, maybe I’d let myself believe that it was all for nothing. But I realise now that I was being fucking stupid and so were you, okay? So I’m kinda hoping that we’ve both learned something since then.”

Harry’s not out of breath or anything, but he’s watching Zayn with a certain stillness so he might be holding his breath. His eyes are clear now, and Zayn realises for the first time that they’re almost the exact shade of his favourite green.

Zayn shakes his head, and catches Harry’s free hand where it’s hanging limply by his side.

“C’mere,” he manages to mumble out, before pressing his lips against Harry’s.

The familiarity of it comes crashing through before anything else, and when Harry presses hard, opens his mouth and licks into Zayn’s, it feels like his veins were pumping gasoline all along and Harry’s mouth is the match to light it up.

Harry pushes further and further into the room and Zayn lets him. He thinks he hears a faint click of the door shutting behind them but Zayn doesn’t let himself tear away from Harry to check if it’d actually closed. Instead, he takes a hold of Harry’s face, runs his hands through the mess of his hair and lets out a groan that’s been building up in the back of his throat for a while now.

When they break apart, Harry’s got himself wrapped all the way around Zayn, his long limbs trapping both of them into a crushing grip. Zayn doesn’t mind at all though; he leans his forehead against Harry’s shoulder as he catches his breath.

“Shhhh,” Harry says, his voice is a soothing and deeply familiar sound. Harry flattens Zayn’s hair. “Shh no, love. Don’t say that.”

And it’s only then that Zayn realises he’s been mumbling things like “ _I’m sorry, Haz_ ” and “ _it was my fault, Haz”,_ into Harry’s neck.

Zayn pulls back, so he can see Harry a bit more clearly. Harry’s still got his arms around him though, like he’s unwilling to let go. So Zayn only pulls back a little and they’re still close enough to be sharing the same breath.

Zayn takes a moment to take all of Harry; devour him with his eyes just as he’d been doing a moment ago using his lips and hands.

Harry’s hair is as dishevelled as ever, his t-shirt all wrinkled where Zayn had clutched at him. The light cherry pink of his lips and cheeks make him look younger and much more debauched than usual. 

“Kiss me again,” Harry demands suddenly, his voice low and rough, and Zayn easily obliges.

The pace is much slower this time, less urgent and more about tasting and re-discovering than anything. They break apart together this time, and Zayn sees that Harry has his eyes closed, wearing a sleepy-content kind of smile.

Wordlessly, he pulls away and picks Harry’s pillow up from the floor where it’d fallen earlier. He takes Harry’s hand and leads him to the bed.

Zayn helps Harry take off his t-shirt slowly, and rubs his hands over both his arms when Harry shivers slightly. He pulls the duvet over the two of them and turns the bedside lamp off. He kisses Harry again, this time in the almost pitch dark, and feels Harry smile into the kiss.

“G’night.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees.

*

Zayn wakes up to Harry kissing the exposed skin on his collarbones.

“Wake up,” Harry whispers, and nibbles his way up to behind Zayn’s ear, which is dumb since Harry _knows_ it’s one of Zayn’s more ticklish spots.

“’m awake,” Zayn manages to supress a giggle but when Harry kisses him there again Zayn laughs and succeeds in pushing Harry’s face away.

“ _Harry_ ,” Zayn smiles with his eyes still closed, and in the back of his mind he wonders if he’s still sleeping.

“ _Zayn_ ,” he hears Harry reply in the same tone, but then feels him lean closer until that mouth of his is right up against Zayn’s ear. “I need you awake so you can fuck me.”

Zayn’s eyes snap open at that, and he feels a slow smile forming on his face as he blinks up at Harry above him.

Harry’s smirking, and it’s obvious from the slightly purple tinge of the sky that the sunrise has only just begun.

“Jesus, what time is it?”

“It’s 5:43 in the morning,” Harry says cheerily. “Now kiss me.”

He doesn’t wait for Zayn to lean up though, and pushes the kiss right onto Zayn’s lips so all Zayn can do is kiss back just as fiercely.

He can feel that Harry’s already naked from the press of his hardened cock against Zayn’s left hip. Harry grinds a bare leg against Zayn’s own clothed prick and Zayn groans into the kiss, relishing in the friction.

“Shit, get these off,” Harry says, more to himself it seems. He helps Zayn take his boxers off and immediately wraps his hand around Zayn’s cock.

“It’s been so long since…” Harry mumbles, and then he leans down and takes Zayn into his mouth, almost like he can’t help himself. Zayn bites his lips at the sudden wet and warmth. The sight of Harry’s curly head licking a long stripe along his shaft almost becomes too much, so he quickly closes his eyes.

“Fuck, Harry,” he manages to say and Harry responds by pulling off with a loud _pop_. Zayn wants to tell him _don’t stop, please, don’t stop_ but Harry has a look in his eyes that makes him pause.

“I wanna ride you, Zayn.” Harry murmurs into Zayn’s skin. Zayn takes a sharp breath and feels his own cock twitch at Harry’s words.

“Fuck yeah… C’mere, Haz.” He brings Harry back to his own lips and kisses him with the same ferocity as earlier. “We have any –”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry interrupts, and leans over Zayn to the bedside table where there’s a bottle of lube and a few condoms.

Harry grins at Zayn’s expression. “Found them in your suitcase while you were sleeping,” he explains.

Zayn only laughs and shakes his head before pulling Harry into another kiss. He takes the lube out of Harry’s hand.

Zayn kisses him again quickly, before whispering, “Face down, babe.”

Harry’s quick to follow and Zayn doesn’t even try and supress a groan at the sight before him: Harry with his plump arse in the air, waiting for Zayn to fill him.

Zayn pours a bit of lube onto his fingers and presses one into Harry. Harry’s tight, much tighter than Zayn remembers, and Zayn finds himself wondering when exactly Harry had last done this. Was it five months ago, in the crammed up space of Harry’s Range Rover while it was parked in Zayn’s brand new garage?

Zayn almost asks then, feels the words on the tip of his tongue. But he puts a soothing hand on the small of Harry’s back. “Relax, love,” he says instead, and marvels at the way Harry immediately goes loose at his words.

“That’s it,” Zayn encourages and slowly opens Harry up. After a while, he leans forward and licks a bit around his fingers, which makes Harry whimper somewhere from above him.

“Zayn,” Harry says and he sounds utterly _wrecked_. “Need more.”

Zayn pulls back and smiles. “C’mon, then.”

He eases Harry up, turns him around and kisses him. Harry responds eagerly, and manages to push Zayn down onto his back while reaching for a condom simultaneously.

Zayn relishes at the slight friction of Harry rolling the condom on him, but the feeling is quickly replaced with the overwhelming warmth of Harry easing himself onto Zayn’s cock. And Zayn can only clutch at Harry’s naked hips and help him.

Harry’s muttering something under his breath as he slowly begins to rock himself back and forth. Zayn watches him with utter captivation. Harry’s hair is plastered onto his very sweaty forehead; his eyes are closed and lips are swollen. He looks fucking gorgeous.

“ _You_.”

Zayn finally catches what Harry’s been mumbling and he opens his eyes and meets Harry’s own. “ _Always_ you, Zayn,” Harry finishes saying, just as he rocks down to meet one of Zayn’s deep thrusts.

Harry groans and lolls his head back, baring the long, pale line of his neck for Zayn.

Zayn takes the opportunity to move his right hand from Harry’s waist and smooth it up to his neck. Harry takes a hold of Zayn’s hand without opening his eyes and brings it to his lips. He kisses Zayn’s hand softly, almost timidly.

The moment feels so private and so fucking _exposing;_ it feels like it’s the most intimate thing Zayn’s done with anybody _ever._ It makes him want to say it; say those three words. He’s said it before, of course, loads of times. But never like _this_ , never with the weight of significance and implication determining each word.

“Only you, Harry.” Zayn says instead. “Always and only _you_.”

Zayn takes Harry’s cock into his hands where it’s hard and leaking against Harry’s stomach. Harry whimpers just as Zayn begins to slide his hand back and forth, and then whispers that he’s close.

“Come for me, Harry,” Zayn replies, just as hushed. He speeds up his hands just as Harry begins matching the pace with his thrusts.

Harry comes before Zayn, spurting all over his own stomach and onto Zayn’s fingers. Zayn thrusts upwards only a couple more times before he follows Harry and comes with a familiar name on his lips.

Zayn can tell that Harry wants to collapse on top of Zayn in a pile of tired limbs, but he’s grateful when Harry eases off of him instead and shuffles into his side.

Zayn immediately wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulls him impossibly closer, until Harry’s face is buried into Zayn’s neck. He kisses Harry’s sweaty hair and smiles when Harry mumbles something about a nap-break before round two.

 _Always and only you,_ Zayn thinks.

He thinks about the first time Harry’d made him pause. About falling in and out and around love with Harry Styles over and over again between pauses and g’nights, and long-drawled out stories at 4am in the morning.

 _“Always and only you.”_ Zayn says out loud, and then smiles into Harry’s hair.

 


End file.
